The Middle Man
by Phox99
Summary: After being dead for seventy years Arthur has come to find the after life not all it's cracked up to be. In fact it's a lot of hard work, especially he been one of  Death's Middle men since the day he died.
1. A Meeting

AN: This was written for Halloween party on the USUK lj community, it loosely based off the show Dead Like me but is not a cross over. Also I do not own either that show or Hetalia. But any whoo thanks reading!

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**The Middle Man **

_My mum would often say to me when I was a lad, "There is no dress rehearsal for life, just the play." My mother would often say this to me whenever she caught loafing off in her garden when I should have been working on my lessons. But as left my boyhood years behind, I began to think existentially on the phrase she would often quote at me. If there was no dress rehearsal, which meant that everyone in the world was just some kind improver. That meant people must never fully know what they're doing in their life time. At the time I though myself very clever, for working out this hidden meaning in my mum's favorite saying. In my young head, I felt that I had just worked the secret to the universe. _

_I find it funny now how naive I was back then. For as I entered adulthood and left to fight for my country and crow, I realized just how wrong I was… Life was the rehearsal and death…Death is the play._

It was cold, but that was something that went without saying. It was late October after all, so for this part of America meant changing leaves and crisp fall air. Autumn was the season for falling…heh falling, fall he smiled to himself, he'd just made a pun.

Arthur Kirkland's smile faded quickly though, as he glanced up at the overcast October sky. He really had nothing to smile about in his opinion; after all he'd been dead scent 1940. And what had he'd gotten for dying valiantly in the defense of The British Empire? Well it certainly wasn't all fluffy clouds and golden angle wings. No he'd gotten a lukewarm handshake from a bloke he'd met just before he died, and a "Welcome to Death's work force!"

That meant that there was no after life for him, no eternal rest. No, he got to spend the rest of eternity collecting the souls of others, sending thought's souls on to their rest, their heaven…or hell. Death's middle man, a reaper, or that's how it was explained to him. For not everyone was like him apparently not everyone just continued living like him after death. That's what it had felt like after he had died, his heart had stop for a tick and then he just kept on living. Dead yet, still alive.

At first Arthur had thought it unfair, what had he done to deserve it. He had been a fairly decent human being, well by his terms at any rate. But after a decade or so of living pass death acceptance was forced on him, thus he settled for being cynical and jaded about the whole thing.

That was why, he sat here, on a park bench somewhere just outside Washington D.C, in October. He sighed and began to dig around in the pocket of his coat for his vice, that had kept him going all these years of being—well dead. His hand came upon his packet of cigarettes, and he pulled it out of its confinement, tapping the box once on his knee out of pure habit. There was a pink sticky note affixed to the box, where a name place, and time were neatly written.

_***Alfred F Jones**_

_**St. James Street Park Dr.**_

_**2:39 pm **_

"Alfred F Jones," he read aloud to himself.

Poor bloke was going too died today, at 2:39, in this park. But there was something different about the name he'd been given that morning. In all the years he had been Death's for lack of a better term middle man, he had never gotten a name with a star by it…

"Like, Artie, you're the lucky one today!" had been what Feliks had practically squealed in his ear that morning, when he had gotten the name of the person he was supposed to reap today.

Feliks was something like Arthur's manger, he (and when he said he, Arthur used that pronoun very loosely), was the one who got the names places, and time of those poor souls whose lives would end that week. How the gender confused, scatter brained, man had landed that position in the hierarchy of Death's middle management, and Arthur could nerve fathom. However, every morning scent he moved to America, he and two other reapers got the name of the person whose soul they were supposed collect from him.

"You like get to reap someone like us today!" Feliks continued.

Arthur had choked on his tea, for some reason Feliks had insisted that they have their well _morning meeting_ in some chain coffee shop that Arthur never bothered to learn the name of. After Arthur had regain the use of his lungs he had spat, "What?"

"One of us, another Reaper, silly!"

Arthur had glared at his_ boss_, "And how does this change my responsibility for the day?"

Feliks missed the controlled rage behind Arthur's words, "Well just don't scare the poor guy, I mean, like, just break it to him gently that he doesn't get an afterlife per-say, and like ya-know show him the ropes kind of thing…"

"Show him the ropes," Arthur muttered bitterly to himself taking a cigarette from the pack. He didn't light yet, just held it in his teeth. No one had bothered to show him the ropes, after he'd been shoved into this roll after life. It had been trial by fire for him— literally. But that's what he got for dying per-se during the middle of a war.

A small 'bing-bong-bing' from the inside of his vest pocket drew his attention way form less than pleasant thoughts. He drew out the gold pocket watch on a heavy chain, with a sigh the cigarette still between his teeth. The watch was kind of an antique now, though when he had gotten it had been brand new. The gold had been shiny and the embossed filigree A.K had been sharp, but now time had gotten to it. The gold was dull and the embossment starting to fade on the cover. It was another way to remind him that he had not aged physically, scent he had died.

With a flick of the wrist he opened the cover and checked the time, it was just now a little past two o'clock. As he slid the watch back into its pocket, and glanced around the park. They were mother's watching there children like hawks, as they ran about the play equipment, die heart joggers willing to brave the weather to keep they're hear rates up, a group of school girls sitting under a tree trying to look as if they were not skipping school, and overall no who looked like that could possibly be Alfred F Jones.

A name like that just rolled off the tongue, was name one had to own. Arthur vaguely wondered what the 'F' stood, probably something like Frances or Filbert, or maybe even Franklin? Well, whatever the letter stood for, Arthur still had time for to smoke at least one cigarette before he had to find this Alfred.

He had just gotten the cigarette lit and the nicotine was just beginning to hit his system, when he got that vague feeling that a person tends to get, when someone is in their presents that they can't quite see. He looked to the side, to be met with the sight of a young man, who was smiling at him.

"Hey Man, do mind if sit here?"

The smile on the boys face didn't fade as Arthur regarded him passively for few moments. The boy was tall and dressed in military fatigues, U.S. Air Force if he knew anything, with what appeared to be a vintage brown bomber jacket over his fatigues. He carried with him one of those G.I duffel bags. He had wheat blond hair that he had try and failed to slick back. For there was one piece of hair that stood in defiance of all hair gel right at the brim of his cap. He wore thin wire framed glasses that did nothing at a mare just how blue his eyes were. There were several metaphors or analogies he could have used to describe them and their blueness, but all those pretty words and phrase would just pale in comparison. They were just that blue.

"Um…Duded you okay?" The man said waving a gloved hand in front of Arthur's face.

Arthur blinked rapidly and coughed, embarrassed, he hadn't been aware he was staring, "Um yes, quite, fine."

"Ah good, so is it okay if I sit here?" the airman gestured to the empty space on the bench beside Arthur, still smiling.

Arthur took the cigarette from his mouth and nodded, really what was the harm?

"Thanks man," he said taking up the remaining space, dropping his burdens with a sigh.

This time Arthur regarded the airman carefully out of the corner of his eye. Everything about this person just screamed golden boy. Boy, that was the right word, because if one took a moment to look past the uniform, that's what one saw. A, boy, barely out of his teens, probably full of dreams of being a hero, and serving his country bravely… Now, what was his bloody name?

There was a name sewn on the lapel of his jacket, but it was too far way to see without encroaching on the boundary of personal space. The jacket looked fairly old, from World War Two at the earliest, and if the jacket was that old the name on it might not even be his. He glanced down at the boy's bag, but no luck there. The information tag on its handle was turned away from him. Really what were his chances that this airman was Alfred F Jones? In all of his time spent as a reaper, Arthur could count on one hand the number of times that the persons whose soul he had to reap had actually walked up to him, introduced themselves.

He took his subtle attention away from the lad to take the cigarette from his mouth. He blew out a line of blue gray smoke with a small huff. Then he felt the airman's eyes on him once more.

Replacing his vice between his lips, he cranked his neck to face him, "Can I help you?"

The airman stiffened, like a prepubescent boy caught staring at a woman's bosom "Ah, sorry man, didn't mean to stair."

Arthur sighed and flicked some of the ash off the end of his cigarette, "Well I'm not much to look at lad." Well he didn't feel so at any rate. Arthur had a lean frame, that he always thought was to sinewy in nature. His hair was a light blond, but it was unruly and never behaved its self. His eyes were green, a very vibrant shade, and quite probably, one of the few redeeming qualities of his physical appearance…

The solider laughed awkwardly, scratching at the back of his head, "Well I don't know about that," he paused and flashed Arthur a shy smile, "But I've never seen anyone with eyebrows as thick as yours before!"

Ah, his eyebrows, yes the damn America just had to go there. Arthur did his best not to bite through his cigarette's filter, as he grimaced.

"Didn't your mother ever teach you any kind of manners, you git?"

The airman laughed, a hearty chuckle, "Well she tried."

Arthur grunted, and studded out his cigarette on the arm of the bench.

"So," the airman said trying to make small talk, "you're not from around here are ya?"

"Oh, right brilliant deduction, whatever gave it away?" Arthur groused.

The airman just smiled that smile of his again; he just had that kind of smile eased onto the face and never truly left. It made Arthur feel slightly uncomfortable, for a reason he could not quite out his figurer on.

"Well, your accent for one thing," the American said almost too brightly.

Arthur allowed himself a drawn out sigh, and decided to hell with it, he may as well ask, "So, too whom, do I the pleasure of being patronized by?"

The boy didn't reply, but gave Arthur a rather confused look, which only succeeded in making him more aggravated, "What's your name?"

"Oh," the airman brightened, "my name's Alfred, Alfred F Jones! Nice to meet you…?"

Well damn, damn, bloody well damn. Arthur wondered if whatever power that ran the universe truly hated him. This kid was Alfred, this golden boy was going to die before his life even really got started, die and not even get a bloody afterlife. Damn.

"Arthur Kirkland," he managed to reply with a forced clam "So, what brings one of the nation's heroes to a place such as this on such a fine day?"

Arthur knew now he was the one making small talk, but it was out some odd scent of guilt. Really Arthur felt like all he should do, was collect Alfred's soul, and just shove him off on Feliks or someone who liked dealing with people!

"Oh," Alfred said scratching at the back of his head again, "just killing time before they ship me out again."

_Killing time, oh, you poor bastard you don't know the half of it_…Arthur thought sullenly. "Really, so were you on leave or reenlisting?" is what he said aloud.

"Oh, that—I guess you could say I was on a hardship leave," Alfred said turning his eyes to the ground, trying to hide the quaver in his voice.

"You see, my mother…my mother past away earlier this month," he continued, his shoulders sagging with an unseen weight.

"Oh," was all Arthur could really say. He couldn't bring himself to say that kind of hollow 'I'm sorry', or even ask how she died.

"Yeah, it's hard to be honest, I mean she was the only parent myself or my little brother has ever known."

"Little brother, you have a bother?" Arthur asked before he could stop himself. He really shouldn't ask for details, but for some reason he couldn't help it. Blame it on the boy's eyes.

Alfred turned his head to face the reaper, a vaguely stunned look on his face. It was almost like the airman was surprised that anyone would want to actually know about his life, and the people involved.

"Yeah," he said carefully, "his name's Matthew, I think I got a picture on me!"

Alfred seemed excited now, as he reach into an inside pocket of his coat and pulled out a wallet sized photo and handed it to Arthur. Almost unwillingly, he took the profited photograph. It was of Alfred with his arm around a younger boy. The other boy in the scene looked to be about ten maybe eleven. Alfred's brother didn't quite have the older's confidants, and was smiling shyly into the camera. Like his brother though, he had blond hair, but it appeared to be more soft and wavy with a single curl hanging in his face. The lad also wore glasses, but behinds his lenses he had violet eyes, which seemed to hold more intelligence than a boy his age should have. The two looked very close.

Arthur had had siblings, three older brothers in fact, and he had disliked all of them. His brothers had been just terrible to him growing up, always picking on him and destroying his things. But now a days he just resented them, because—because well, he was the only one out of his siblings who had _died_ during the war, while his brothers had made it through relatively unscathed.

"That's Matthew, he's only eleven but he's really smart!" Alfred told him practically beaming with brotherly pride, and snapping Arthur out of his brooding thoughts.

"Ah, yes he does appear so." Arthur said rather lamely, handing the picture back. He was beginning to get a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach as Alfred continued.

"Yeah, I wish I could take him with me, you know keep our little family together," Alfred said wistfully, "But I really don't have the means to support Mattie properly right now."

"Is that why you're in the armed services now?" Arthur asked even though he knew he should stop; he really, really, shouldn't push Alfred into to talking any about this anymore. Because if the airman continued on this particular vain of conversation, he'd fall for those blue eyes, if he hadn't already fallen.

The airman kind of chuckled at that, "Well, no, I joined the Air Force strait out of high school. It was kind what I had always planned on doing. But I don't get paid enough, so for right now Mattie's staying with a friend of the family, while I'm overseas." Alfred sighed at that and for a moment looked like a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders, but he brightened quickly though. "But if I make officer, I'll get paid more, and be able to request a job stateside so that way Mattie and I can live together! Cause I'm a hero and heroes don't leave their little bother's all alone!"

_Oh, you poor sod, _Arthur thought as he saw the bright grin and thumbs up Alfred flashed him. He looked away from the airman; diverting his gaze skyward this wasn't what he'd wanted. He'd wanted—he'd wanted… Well he didn't know what he'd wanted, but he knew it wasn't this. Not this bight smiley solider with almost no family left and someone who would need him dearly. Not someone who had just lost his mother and was still trying to pick up the pieces. Damn, really the universe hated him it really, really did. Arthur almost wanted to take Alfred by the shoulders and shake him while screaming, 'You're going to die today, and if you don't want to die, if you don't want to leave that little brother of yours all alone you should just run away right now!'

But Arthur knew he couldn't do that, if he did that he could very well be the cause of Alfred's death. Not to mention he'd be breaking the rules. However, Arthur still could help but feel sorry for the boy. For not only would Alfred die, he'd be stuck here playing Death's middle man, just like him.

Quietly, Arthur slipped a hand into his vest pocket, letting his fingers rest against his watch. It served to ground his mind back in reality, remind him that he a job to do. That he shouldn't let this boy's back story pull him out of seventy years of complacent cynicism. He would do his job take Alfred's soul, give him the 'Welcome to Death's work force' speech, and then send Alfred on his way. And _not _get any more involved. Yes, that was a good plan.

Arthur turned his to look at Alfred, only to find Alfred looking back him, no gazing that was a better word for it. With the way the airman had his lids almost at half staff and the way his mouth curved up wards oh-so softly. It was frankly unnerving, no one, (besides his mother), had ever looked at him in such a caring manner. And Alfred had only just met him! He felt his cheeks heat up, and he did the only thing any Englishman could when caught in such a gaze. He coughed awkwardly and took sudden interest in the seam work of his loafers. Feeling, his aforementioned plan fly out of the metaphorical window.

The actions seemed draw Alfred out of whatever thoughts he must have contemplating.

"Oh, um, sorry! I didn't mean to….um—you well know, yeah sorry if I've been bothering you, it's just that I haven't really had chance to I guess talk about what's happened. " he stammered lamely, averting his gaze elsewhere, and if Arthur was a different kind of person he would have sworn the boy's face was red.

"No, no it's— just don't worry about it…" Arthur replied, his words tapering out as he checked the time…

Damn, it was just now 2:30, Alfred now, just nine minutes to live…

He was aware of the airman standing up and gathering his belongings out of his peripheral.

"Well it was nice talking with you, Arthur." Alfred beamed, profiting a hand.

Arthur caught the meaning gesture, and slowly, hesitantly he took the airman's gloved hand. He felt the familiar sparks, and saw the familiar glow that meant his job was done…for now at any rate.

Alfred unaware of what had just transpired, gripped his hand tighter and shook it jovially, "I have to get going, if I want to catch my plane. But hey maybe when get back I could look up and we could…um talk, about better things."

"Um—Sure I don't see why not," was all Arthur could find to say, but he added this, "I hope things work out for you."

Alfred gave another one his smiles, but this one was more lined with care, as if he wanted to leave that smile behind for Arthur to keep.

"Thanks, you too," he let go of Arthur's hand his fingers lingering on his palm longer than was socially excitable. "So I'll see you around?"

Arthur forced a smiled, how could he not when looking into Alfred's oh-so hopeful blue eyes. "Maybe."

"Alright, then I'll see you around then!" Alfred said as he slowly began to jog away.

_Much sooner that you think,_ he thought, as watched Alfred make his way down the paved foot path. Then he stood up, and brushed the wrinkles from his coat. Part of Arthur didn't want to stick around to see just how Alfred met his end, but by the same token he a job to do. He glanced at his pocket watch again, and then slipped back into its pocket.

It was already 2:34.

When he had shaken Alfred's hand he had loosen Alfred's soul from his body. That's it how worked, a reaper simply had to just touch the target in some manner. The act would then free the soul from the mortal shell, and then all the reaper had to do wait around for …

Arthur heard a sound somewhere above him that sounded like a cross between a growl and snicker. He glanced up, and there sitting in a tree was a Graveling. It was a squat, monkey like creature, which looked as if; all of its fur had been singed off in an acid bath, leaving its skin a dusty rust-gray hue. The thing had small spikes growing out of its head, and enlarged hands and feet, a disgusting thing really.

It was the Graveling job to actually kill people in whatever why they saw fit. They were the ones that made that car going plowing into the store front, or the plane fall out the sky, or cables snap when the climber was sure they had been fine at the beginning of the clime. No one ever saw how they worked beside the reaper. Though when Arthur had been a child he, could have sworn that he had seen one or two of the little monstrosities, running about.

This Graveling snicker-growled at Arthur again then proceeded to scramble down the same path that Alfred had taken, and then, Arthur followed.

It was a short way down the path when Arthur spotted Alfred again, now standing across the street under a bus port, bouncing on his heels while he waited. Next to him sat a woman with her little girl wriggling in her lap. He also spotted the Graveling, this time astride a large black S.U.V. The thing snickered at Arthur once more, while the S.U.V slowed down to well below the posted speed limit.

Arthur's eyes widened, as the creature slid_ through _the roof of the vehicle. Arthur felt time slow down for himself as he sprinted across the street.

But in reality, it all happened so fast.

The shots that rung out, the woman that screamed, and the sickening thud of_ that_ body hitting the ground, as the sounds of that car peeling out filled the air.

If asked why Arthur had run across street, he wouldn't be able to even explain it to himself. The scene before him was stomach turning, and to be honest Arthur had seen a bit worst during the war. But this was just sad.

Alfred's body laid splayed face first on the pavement, with two bullet holes in his back, his blood pooling underneath him. His head was turned to the side those once bright blue eyes, now dull and clouding over. Arthur glanced at the to the side to find that the woman and her child sat where they had been pushed off the bench looking shell-shocked but alive. And standing over his body looking just as shell-shocked was Alfred.

Arthur felt more than saw the gathering crowd of gawkers, many on their cell-phones arguing with 9-1-1 dispatchers, some just taking pictures out of a macabre scent of curiosity. Then he looked to Alfred's immortal soul, still staring at had once been his body with wide unseeing eyes. No one in the gathering crowd took any noticed of the man looking at himself, because no one besides Arthur could see him, for right now at any rate.

He very quietly picked up the former airman's bag then moved to stand beside Alfred's corporeal form.

"Come with me," was all Arthur said as he took Alfred by the elbow, tying hard not to look into that distraught wide eyed expression.

He tugged Alfred behind him as they retreated swiftly from the gruesome crime scene; just as blear of sirens began to reach his ears. Again no one in the crowd of morbid on lookers took any notice, they were much too busy gawking to see that Arthur, had just technically walked off with what was most likely now evidence, and dragging an invisible man behind him. But that was because right now no one could see Arthur. However, Arthur knew that wouldn't last long and he was determined to get himself and Alfred as far away from here before his temporary glamour wore off.

The glamor was just quark of being a reaper that cast its self, it made them imperceptible while the performing the act of actually collecting a soul. Because there were just some times when a reaper just showed up late and could not loose a soul from its shell before its body died, and the glamor prevented such questions as "Hey, who's the nut-ball who's touching that dead body over there?" But again this effect only lasted for a very, very short time.

Arthur turned a corner a good three blocks away, and it was here that he slowed down his brisk pace to a complete stop. He let Alfred's bag drop as he sagged against a conveniently placed building, because ballocks, that bloody thing was heavy. What had the boy put in that thing rocks? It was also here that Alfred found his voice.

"What the hell, just happen!" He shouted not exactly angry but, not all to get there pleased either. "Did I just die, and if I'm dead does that mean I'm a, a—a well ghost?"

At the word ghost Alfred paled, but recovered quickly and continued with his bout of hysteria, "I don't want to be dead right now, I-I can't be dead. If I'm dead who's going to look out for Mattie? He still needs me I'm all the little guys got left, I made promise to him, I promised that I wouldn't die, and heroes never break a promise, especially ones they make to their little bothers! So I can't be dead. I know I got myself shot back there, but this is all this all just a wired pain induced, out of body dream thing right? Please tell me I'm going to wake up in a hospital bed right with a whole bunch of tubing jammed in me, and then I just laugh the whole thing off right? Please, please, you have to know what's going on so please, tell me that I'm not dead!"

Arthur regarded Alfred grimly, as the airman rather rapidly pleaded with him. The boy's face and voice full of a panicked, worried, confusion, which made something in Arthur's gut twist in sympathy. But he wasn't about to lie to Alfred, no Alfred needed to be told the truth. With what appeared to be a great effort Arthur heaved his body off the brick, and began to fish around in coat pocket for that carton. Because if he was going to be completely honest with Alfred, he got the feeling that he needed something to take the edge off…and possibly a stiff drink afterwards. He looked again into Alfred's face, so lost puppy like in manner…

_On second thought better make that a double…or several._

After he'd managed to get a cigarette securely between his teeth and lit did he dare look at Alfred again, his own face a mask of frigid calm.

"Well," Alfred implored weakly.

"Alfred." Arthur said removing the cigarette from his lips and blowing out a line of bluish smoke, he couldn't really think of any other way to put it so he might as well get it over with—

"Welcome to Death's work force."


	2. The Funeral

_My father had a saying,"There are no atheist in foxholes, and everyone prays on the battlefield."_

_But, my father was a marine and spent most of the first Gulf War hiding in foxholes, and at the time when he was still with my mom, I was too young to understand what he meant. It wouldn't be until I myself joined the air force and got my first real taste of combat, did I finally understand what he meant._

_No matter who you are, or what you believe in, you just pray that you live to see the next day. Though lately, some things have happened in my life that has made me question not only god, but the whole universe itself. _

_But I guess dying dose that to a person._

* * *

He was told that he shouldn't be there. They told him it wasn't a good idea go.

But Alfred knew he had to go, it was his own funeral after all.

It had been a nice service, in that small family church in that town where he grew up, not far from Washington D. C. The cold November morning had been clear and ironically sunny. He had stood in the back, for really it had been the only place to stand. He was rather surprised to see every pew filled, with friends and family, and even a few people he only vaguely recalled meeting.

Military chaplain had given a nice eulogy, and a few of his buddies from his platoon had stood up to recall some of their favorit memories of him. However, Alfred didn't pay much attention to what was said. No, he spent most of the service gazing at the front most pew, where a young boy not much older than eleven sat quietly. Even though, Alfred could only see the back of his little brother's head he knew Mathew was feeling all alone in the world.

Every so often, the blond man sitting next to Mathew would pat the back of his head, Francis's way of trying to fulfill his role as Matt's legal guardian. Alfred felt glad that Matthew had someone there who cared.

But what had surprised him the most, was another man sitting in the front pew. This man was tall and stoic, with the soldiers thousand mile stair but that's how his father always handled grief.

Alfred had wondered why his father had shown up. They were never very close, and he had not seen him much after his father and mother got divorced when he was six. But there his father was, in his marine dress blues.

His father didn't say a word nor did he shed a tear. His father had always said "A soldier never cries."

But when Alfred's fellow airman took away the flag covered box, that held what used to be his body, he saw his father bury his head in his hands.

Now he stood some way a ways from his gravesite next to his mom. He may never see her again but he didn't want her to be lonely.

The chaplain finish reading from his bible; ashes to ashes and dust to dust. He watched as six of his platoon mates, his buddies, and brothers in arms lift Old Glory off his casket. Twelve times she was folded; a flag never to be flown again. The neat triangle ended up the hands of his commanding officer, a staunch man, who never spoke much, he then turn to Matthew. After his mom had died he had made sure that if anything happened to himself, Matt would get everything.

Alfred wasn't standing close enough to hear what was actually said but he knew the word his C.O spoke as he presented the flag to his little brother.

"On behalf of the President of United States, the Department of the Air Force, and a grateful nation, we offer this flag for the faithful and dedicated service of Master Sergeant Alfred F Jones. May God bless you this family and the United States of America."

Matthew took the flag in shaking hands, and he knew his brother was crying. His C.O saluted and in the distance Taps began to play on the horn of a lone bugler. All military personnel saluted as his coffin was lowered into the freshly dug grave, and even Matthew gave his brother one final salute.

"So did this make you feel any better?" Said a heavily accented voice behind him.

Alfred turned and was not all that surprised to see Arthur standing there amongst the headstones, a cigarette between his lips and smoke curling about his head. Alfred looked back to his funeral then back to the man who had become something like his handler over the past few weeks.

"I think you're standing on someone's grave," was all he said.

The green eyed Englishmen gave a cynical chuckle taking the cigarette from his lips, "I'm dead as well so I rather doubt it counts. However, that doesn't answer my question."

Alfred glared, and Arthur sighed, "You should forget about them, they can't see you for who you were anymore, so don't even bother you'll only get hurt in the end."

"You know what," Alfred said moving closer until he stood eye to eye with Arthur his fists balled, "just because you happen to be jaded about your death doesn't mean I want to be. So I will not forget about my family, I made a promise Matthew and even though he might not be able to see me, or even recognize me, I will still look after him and I will still protect him. And make the best of this …t-this life!"

He wheeled away breathing hard, he felt Arthur regarded him coolly, "You really are something else."

Alfred did not reply, just watched as his funeral ended and people began going their separate ways. His military buddies leaving together, probably to have one last drink in his honor. Matthew leaving with Francis one hand held tightly than the other man's the flag clutched to his chest. But his father stayed even after all others had left, he couldn't tell if the man was still crying.

A hand has to shoulder, and for once Arthur had a sympathetic look on his face. He had yet to ask how Arthur had died, but he got the feeling that maybe he understood.

"So are you going to tell Felix that I was here?"

Arthur shook his head, "No, I'm not."

"Thank you."

"Now come on let's not stand here any longer. Graveyards tend to make me feel unpleasant," Arthur said.

Alfred nodded and followed quietly, casting one final glance over his shoulder to where his father still stood. He may never know why his dad stood there for so long, but tomorrow was another day.

* * *

**AN: **Just a small continuation but please don't get your hopes up for more than this...


End file.
